Do You Want to Drive or Should I Take the Wheel? (Sterek)
by questionmarkonlife
Summary: Stiles knew that Theo couldn't be trusted and he was proved right when he found himself kidnapped by the psychotic werewolf. Left in the preserve with no memory as to how he got there, Stiles was found by none other than Sourwolf. Once Stiles laid eyes on the brooding wolf, something switched in his brain. Was it affection? OR The one where Theo has his eyes set on Stiles.
1. Chapter 1

Stiles screamed as he felt razor spikes drive into the flesh of his shoulder. He tried twisting away from the pain but whoever was holding him had a steel grip. When he felt himself being pulled backwards, Stiles instantly grabbed the wrench laying on his exposed car engine and swung blindly at his attacker. He didn't miss a beat once he felt the weight lifted off of him.

He fled out of the car lot and toward the school, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he closed in on shelter. What he didn't expect was to be tackled by whatever vengeful supernatural baddy that was behind him. He was knocked to the concrete ground, the wind knocked straight out of his lungs. Scrambling to turn onto his back and struggling underneath a heavy body, Stiles took a first glance at his attacker and paled. It was Donovan, with a mouth full of shark-like teeth and blazing white eyes.

Having a human Donovan threaten his dad was hilarious given the teen's complete inability to do so but now that the tables have turned with Donovan being a bloodthristy chimera, Stiles doesn't find himself laughing. _Well fuck._

"That's right, Stiles. Take a good look at me. Not so funny now that you can't hide behind your bitch of a father, huh?" Donovan hissed through his razor-sharp teeth, and Stiles's mind was so overwhelmed by the primal instinct to survive that he couldn't think of a retort. He tried punching Donovan in any place that was open but after two lame hits to the chimera's chest, his wrists were seized and trapped over his head.

"This is the part where I win. But don't worry, I won't kill you," Donovan purred whilst eyeing Stiles's arm. The part of Stiles's brain that pieced together information, even when he didn't want to, realized that he was about to lose at least one limb tonight. He started kicking Donovan around the back of his knees and calves but that only seemed to get an irritable growl out of the monster. Maybe it was a stupid idea to struggle even more, but hey, Stiles blamed his extreme distaste for dismemberment. Donovan let out a hiss and lunged down, only to be tossed aside before he could reach Stiles's human flesh.

Stiles blinked, relieved that someone from the Pack had come just in the nick of time. Looking up at his savior, his relief morphed into confusion and slight anger when he recognized the wolfed out form of Theo Raeken. Their eyes only locked for a moment before Theo leapt onto Donovan, who was starting to get up onto his feet, and pushed him back down by his throat. Donovan hissed, his shark teeth on full display, and clawed at Theo blindly.

"What are you doing?! This wasn't—" Theo silenced the newly-turned chimera with a swift swipe across his neck, face stoic as black blood splattered on his face. All that could be heard was heavy breathing. Stiles chanced a look at Donovan and flinched at the sight of his lifeless eyes staring back at him. Black and silver covered Donovan's lips and neck, intensifying the horror of this entire situation. Stiles, with some difficulty, rose to his feet and stared at Theo in disbelief. "You killed him."

"If I didn't, then he would've killed you." Theo was staring up at him with guilt-ridden eyes but Stiles knew better. He knew that the boy in front of him didn't regret killing Donovan. He knew that Theo was hiding something, why else would he silence Donovan in the middle of a sentence—of a _plea_. He doesn't trust Theo for one second, especially not the concerned, friendly facade he has on as he approached him. "I couldn't let him hurt you," Theo continued with wounded sincerity as he reached out to touch Stiles's pained shoulder. Stiles snapped away from his hand and turned around to head back to his jeep.

"Get away from me, you psychopath. You think you have everyone wrapped around your finger, don't you? How do you think the Pack will react when they find out you killed a chimera? Do you still think that you'll be let in?" Stiles sneered with his back toward Theo, even though it was probably a dumb move to yell at someone with sharp claws who freshly killed. But Stiles wouldn't be Stiles if not for his lack of filter. When he reached his jeep, he picked up his abandoned wrench from the ground and disregarded the drops of blood decorating the tool as he assessed his car engine.

"Stiles, hear me out." He ignored Theo and twisted a random knob on the power steer pump.

"Stiles." He could tell that Theo was a mere foot behind him and on the edge of anger if his stiff tone was anything to go by. But why should Stiles care? Another twist on a random car part. Was that the alternator?

"Stiles." Should he mess with the brake master cylinder? Probably not.

"Stiles!" A sharp pain erupted at the back of his head, fucking him over as he was immediately thrown into the world of unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles woke up to a small dark room filled with stale air. _Of course_ , he thought bitterly, because this was his life now. Getting kidnapped by whatever supernatural creature that decided to lurk in Beacon Hills was part of his weekly routine.

His hands uncomfortably twisted from the chains connected to the ceiling, only given enough slack to have his elbows touch the top of his head. He took note that the rest of his body was unrestrained. His hoodie was gone and his t-shirt was smudged with stains from god knows where. Stiles shook his head, frustrated at himself for making a move as stupid as to leave his back vulnerable to a belligerent werewolf because he fucking knew who had put him here in this cliche-looking dungeon. And once he got his hands around the motherfucker's throat he won't let go until his dad comes to ship his ass off to jail.

"Aw, that angry look on your face is precious. I wonder what you could possibly be thinking about."

Stiles snapped his eyes to the source of the voice. Theo stood in the middle of the dark room with his hair styled with disgusting amounts of product, his hands clasped behind his back. Typical. The bastard had a smirk plastered on his face and Stiles wanted nothing more than to slap it right off. But since his hands are out of commission right now, he'll just have to settle for a glare. "Oh nothing. I was just contemplating the different ways I could kill a werewolf. I was up to seventeen before you rudely interrupted me."

Theo chuckled, walking forward and revealing a syringe that had previously been hidden behind his back. "I'm sorry," Theo said, feigning innocence, "but this won't take long." He held the needle up to Stiles's eye level, allowing him to see the sloshing gold liquid within. Stiles gulped down his fear because he did _not_ want to give Theo that kind of satisfaction. Theo's eyes traveled over his body in a predatory gaze, settling on his eyes. Stiles could tell that the piece of shit was drinking it all in and loving every second.

Unexpectedly, Theo raised a hand to touch his cheek, lightly touching the skin in a caress. Stiles tried to inch away from him but Theo firmly grabbed his jaw and moved it back to face him. "If you'll just relax, this won't be as bad," he grinned while stroking Stiles's jawline with his thumb, making the boy's stomach curl. He brought the needle close to Stiles's neck and Stiles tracked the movement with horrorstruck eyes. His heart was jackhammering and if he didn't know any better, he'd say that it would burst out any minute. Breathing became a strenuous chore and nausea soaked through him entirely.

"Wait, w-what is that? W-wait, stop," he choked out, too freaked out to stop his fear from showing. Theo paused, the corners of his lips twitching up when he saw him in a sweat. Panic was evident in Stiles's whole body language and the rapid rise and fall of his chest had his ears pounding with the rhythm.

"Calm down, it's just something to give me what's mine." Theo meaningfully looked at him before launching forward to attach his lips to his own, right as Stiles felt a prick in his neck. He squirmed against Theo but the bastard was on a mission. Stiles felt him sloppily lick across his lips and had to hold back his vomit while simultaneously pushing against a wave of fatigue as the bizarre liquid was being forced into him. He kicked and shouted but Theo was strong and kept their lips in a bruising lock, biting down on Stiles's bottom lip in wanton. Stiles managed to land a kick to Theo's elbow, jerking his body and the needle away. The needle shattered when it hit the floor, the last few drops of gold liquid dripping onto the moldy concrete.

Theo cursed and backhanded Stiles in fury. Stiles thought he'd be in for an onslaught of pain but Theo, fortunately, moved away and started pacing the room, barely making coherent words. Ignoring the sting in his cheek, Stiles uselessly fought against his chains, the injection and forced kiss making his skin crawl. He felt the liquid hotly stirring inside of him, afraid of what effects it'd bring out. Oh god, he's going to mutate into something monstrous, isn't he? He'll become mindless and hell bent on destruction—something unrecognizable to the pack. If it came down to it, they will have to kill him. He won't let himself hurt anyone else, not after the Nogitsune. Stiles shuddered at the unwanted memories and bit back a groan from the uncomfortable churning in his stomach.

"—it'll still work out. Everything just needs to be set." Theo stopped pacing and stood up straighter by the end of his sentence. He closed in on Stiles and, without any warning, struck his head with enough force to knock him out instantly.

* * *

Darkness encased him in a choking hold. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He was caged in, unable to move his limbs much, and dread washed over him. He tried raising his hands to count his fingers, to make sure that this wasn't a dream, but all he was met with was black. Reaching out, he felt something solid against his hands, sandy particles dusting over his face that made him sputter. Dirt, he was surrounded by dirt. No, he was _buried_ by dirt. How he ended up like this, he doesn't know.

Taking clumps of dirt into his hands, he started digging toward what he assumed was up. Every time he'd remove another handful, a shower of dirt and compose would rain over his face. His arms ached. His face felt stiff and itchy. His nails felt disgusting and he's pretty sure that the slimy tendrils on his chest were worms. But he doesn't care. He doesn't know how he got trapped underneath the ground but he sure as hell wasn't going to rot here. He had to get out. He had to find someone and get answers.

Removing another clump, he saw a sliver of moonlight peek through the darkness. His heart fluttered with hope, giving him that extra push to finally break through the surface. He hauled himself out of the hole and rolled onto his back, facing the looming moon with half-lidded eyes. Weakly lifting his hands up to the moonlight, he started counting. One, two, three, four,. . . ten. He had ten fingers, which made him breathe out in relief despite his horrible situation.

He knew that he was deep inside the preserve, not a sound of civilization breaking through the silent wisps of the night. He was exhausted and ached all over. He definitely won't be able to walk the distance towards help.

He laughed spitefully at himself. Despite having dug himself out of his literal grave, he'll still die. Maybe a mountain lion will prowl by and decide to dine on his corpse. Or maybe a wolf. He giggled at the thought, only to cough from the scratchiness in his throat.

How would his dad take the news of his death? How about the pack? He grew closer with all of them, even Derek, after the whole debacle with the blacklist of supernaturals wrecking havoc on the town. Just the other day, he, Derek, Scott, Kira, Isaac, Allison, Erica, and Boyd had a pack night over at Derek's loft, one filled with a Batman marathon, buckets upon buckets of buttery popcorn, and a heated debate about what to watch on their next pack night. Stiles fought for Star Wars because Scott _still_ hasn't watched the whole thing yet, but he was outnumbered by a vote of six to one. Derek refused to vote but that was just expected. The majority opted for Avengers even though Stiles had already seen it enough times to recite their lines from memory.

Stiles chuckled bittersweetly. Now he won't get the chance to watch the adventure movie with the pack. Or watch anything with the pack for that matter. He was going to die here. Alone. And that was the most frightening thing. He won't get to find out why he was buried in the middle of the preserve at the dead of night; he won't get to see his loved ones one last time. His eyelids felt like concrete blocks and he couldn't resist the need to just close his eyes. All he saw were the pretty, shining stars in the night sky as he surrendered to the welcoming hands of oblivion.


	3. Chapter 3

Inhaling the scent of pine needles, Derek sped up his pace to a sprint, relishing in the whisk of the night air hitting his face. Late night runs made him feel more in tune with his wolf, pure adrenaline and comfort in zooming past a plethora of life.

As he ran, his mind wandered to what his life had come to during the last year. Right after he unlocked his ability to fully shift into a wolf, he was overwhelmingly confused. In all honesty, he still is.

When the Hale family was whole, it was no secret that Laura was going to be the next Alpha and never did it cross Derek's mind that he could end up in her position. In the beginning, he was pathetically unprepared for the role, treating his betas, Isaac, Erica and Boyd with anger-fueled force because that was the tool he used to learn whilst growing up. But over the years, the idiotic teens who managed to sneak into his life have egged him out of his vulgar shell. Before he was even fully aware of it, he began adopting more compassionate and sensible methods in reigning in his control and interacting with his betas. It felt nice. It felt like a true pack.

Closing his eyes, Derek immersed himself in the natural harmony around him, taking inventory of each distinctive scent. Oak. Eucalyptus. Pinecones. Red maple. White spruce. Elm. Shaggy moss. Human.

Wait, what? Derek snapped his eyes open and halted to a stop. He surveyed his surroundings with greater attention, zeroing in on the only scent that didn't fit with the rest. He sensed lingerings of fear, desperation, confusion, and defeat. Allowing his instincts to lead him towards the source, he edged toward a clearing in the preserve. Then the scent became definitive under the faded chemosignals. He knew that scent. Cinnamon and peppermint with an undertone of bitterness that he knew originated from daily medication. But there was something there that threw the scent off—something acrid and crude.

Derek rushed forward, sliding down onto his knees next to an unconscious Stiles and uncaring of the damp mud soaking into his jeans. He heard the fluttering pulse of Stiles's heart and scanned the lanky form for any major external wounds. Stiles's body had a few bruises and superficial cuts, nothing to worry about, but that said nothing about his internal state.

Gathering Stiles up bridle style, Derek hurriedly ran in the direction to Deaton's clinic. He tried to keep the jostling to a minimum, cutting through paths that were more worn down and weaving through the preserve with experienced stealth. He held on tighter to Stiles when he saw lights emitting from the clinic, pushing himself faster while surveying his surroundings to make sure nobody would spot them. "Hold on, Stiles. Hold on."

Derek went around to the back entrance of the clinic and kicked open the doors without a second thought. Deaton, who had previously been taking inventory of his medical supplies, appeared startled by the aggressive means of entry but didn't speak anything of it as he glanced at the bundled form in Derek's arms. The druid ushered them to the operation table and once Stiles was laid down, he quickly went to work analyzing the boy's basic welfare such as eye dilation, temperature, breathing, and the presence of any broken bones. During his preliminary check, he calmly listened to Derek explain that he had found him unconscious and alone in the preserve.

"And there was something off about his scent. It was like a mixture of acid and petroleum," Derek added, looking down at Stiles with a sense of worry that he would never admit to the spastic boy.

Deaton looked over Stiles's form in contemplation, eyebrows furrowed and eyes set in a troubled gaze. "If this is connected to what we have seen with Tracy, then I may not have the tools to decipher the root of his condition."

Derek snarled at Deaton, angry that the man wasn't going out of his way to find answers. "But you don't even know that; you don't even know if there's a connection."

Deaton walked to a shelf in the far corner of the back room, sifting through various jars of herbs. "Perhaps I can attempt to use s—"

On the operation table, Stiles sat up ramrod straight, gasping like a fish out of water and shocking the two men in his presence. Derek lurched forward from his spot next to the steel table to steady Stiles, almost dropping the boy then and there when he was met with golden cracks invading those familiar whiskey-brown irises. They were slivers, barely noticeable, but they indicated that something was definitely wrong.

Then he noticed the way Stiles was staring at him, how he was letting his emotions flood through his eyes like there was nothing to hide. Derek couldn't decipher those swirls of emotions but he couldn't help but think that the boy in front of him held an uncanny resemblance to a pouting puppy. Derek stood frozen as Stiles wandered his gaze across his face, almost like he was in search of something. When Stiles kept this up without any signs of speaking, Derek grew unbearably uncomfortable. "Stiles."

"Derek," the boy breathed out before wrapping his arms around the werewolf's shoulders, catching him by utter surprise. "Derek," he stiffened when he felt Stiles nuzzle into the crook of his neck, resisting the great urge to rip the boy away from him.


	4. Chapter 4

Derek vaguely remembered the many distant relatives who had suffocated him with attention during family get-togethers when he was a child as Stiles latched onto him like a koala bear. He gently pried Stiles off, looking the other way when he caught the look of disappointment on Stiles's face. Could this get any worse for him?

Drawing out his phone, Derek held up a finger to signal a quick call and fled out of the room. He sent out a group text to the Pack telling them to get to Deaton's _now_. He heard the steady click-clack of footsteps and turned to Deaton with an angry scowl. "His eyes. Why didn't you say anything." It wasn't more of question than it was an accusation.

Deaton shifted in his posture, eyebrows knitted together as if he was just as confused as Derek. Or maybe he's really good at not letting on what he truly knows.

"The appearance of his eyes was fine when I had checked. This is. . . disturbing, to put it in light terms. As I had feared, it seems that his condition is unlikely due to supernatural means. I can consult my records for any possible leads but, other than that, there's not much I can provide."

Derek grunted and stiffly pushed past Deaton to re-enter the backroom. Stiles was sat up on the operation table, carelessly swinging his legs as he stared at the jar of discarded medical needles across from him. He turned his head to the doorway when he heard someone walking in, grinning from ear to ear when he saw the broody werewolf.

"Come 'ere," he slurred with arms outstretched, making grabby hands to urge Derek closer. Derek felt his eye twitch and stood fixed in his spot at the doorway. He scanned the boy on the table, noticing that everything from his beaten converse to the moles splattered on his face screamed Stiles, but this, this wasn't the Stiles that he had come to tolerate over the last several years. The Stiles he knew definitely wouldn't want to hug Derek to kingdom come, regardless of whether he had been rescued in the middle of the woods.

"Derek," Stiles whined, looking dangerously like a baby about to throw a tantrum. "Come here, I miss yooouuuuu." Conflicted and somewhat terrified, Derek snapped to Deaton for help but the vet merely shrugged and motioned the wolf to fulfill Stiles's wish.

Right then, Erica and Isaac bursted through the clinic's door. "What's going on?" Erica asked as she made her way to Derek.

"Is there another body?" Isaac nervously added, fidgeting with his jeans, which was quite understandable. The Pack had been dealing with many gruesome discoveries in the past few weeks. First Belasko, then Tracy and the path of blood she had left in her wake, and the revelation that someone is conducting hybrid-supernatural experiments.

"It's Stiles," Derek informed. But then he saw the horrorstruck looks on his betas' faces and quickly corrected his choice of wording. "Oh-um, he's alive but there's a problem."

After Erica and Isaac had let out a breath of relief, Derek gave them the run down, leaving out the bits about Stiles's spontaneous need to touch him. The two teens were silent after that, letting it all soak in.

"How is he right now?" Erica whispered. They were gathered around the front counter, their forms hunched over in exhaustion. They had spent a great deal of time trying to make sense of the chimera situation and the fact that Stiles was attacked right after Donovan went missing, well, everything seems painfully daunting.

"He doesn't seem to be in pain and as far as we know, he doesn't have any broken bones. A few scratches but nothing big."

Isaac bit his nails in worry. "Shouldn't we be taking him to the hospital? We might have missed something." He shied away from any eye contact when he felt two pairs of glaring eyes boring into his head.

"We don't know what happened, whether it's connected to the chimeras, and we can't take the risk." Derek straightened up, stretching until he heard the distinctive pops in his back, and headed into the backroom once again. His two betas followed suit, all three of them staying by the doorway as Deaton asked Stiles some questions.

"—feel any physical discomfort, Stiles?" Deaton asked in that soothing voice of his.

"No, I feel fine. Just tired, I guess," Stiles blinked, unaware of the three's presence.

"Hmm, do you remember anything prior to waking up?"

Stiles scratched his head, a habit that Derek noticed he'd do whenever he was nervous or uncomfortable. "Yeah, I remember being buried in dirt." Derek tensed at that; there have been reports around town of multiple dirt pits appearing out of nowhere. "And I clawed my way to the surface. I was so tired after that, I couldn't move to get help," Stiles murmured. He turned away from Deaton's gaze and spotted the audience, his eyes instantly landing on Derek and brightening up.

Derek knew what Stiles was going to say next and braced himself next to his betas. _Oh boy, here we go again_ , he thought, begrudgedly.

"Derek!" Stiles yelled joyously, stretching out the vowels in his name. It was like all the exhaustion had been drained out of Stiles's body, left with the exuberance of a bubbling, hyper child.

"Derek!" Stiles repeated, equally as loud, and Derek doesn't know if he had actually groaned out loud at that. "Come here, please?" Stiles smiled, showing teeth in faux innocence. Derek shifted on his feet, attempting to glare at Stiles into submission but the boy's bubbling excitement never faltered. He continued to glare at Stiles, head lowered a bit to amplify intimidation, until he felt a small push from behind.

Derek snapped his head, glowering at Erica's smirking face. "Go ahead, Derek. He said 'please', didn't he?" Erica taunted, a predatory glint in her eyes. He growled in warning, letting the red slowly bleed through his eyes. It had successfully shut her up but she still wore that infuriating smirk.

"Derek?" The question came from Stiles, confusion laced in his tone. Everyone's eyes were suddenly on Derek and that's when the universe decided to cut him some slack.

Scott and Kira bursted in, the former going straight to Stiles to make sure that his best friend was alright. Derek smelled blood on Kira and tensed. "What happened?"

"There was another chimera at Sinema. Th-they killed him before . . .we could bring him in," Kira shakily said, her eyes downcast and her heartbeat irregular, indicating to Derek that she was possibly hiding something.

He looked to Scott for confirmation and received a curt nod from the True Alpha. "His name was Lucas and he was only a year below us," Scott whispered forlornly, arms placed gently on Stiles's shoulders, his fussing momentarily ceased.

"What do we do?" Kira asked, a look of hopelessness overtaking her features. Derek locked eyes with Scott then subtly glanced at Stiles before focusing back on Scott, hoping that he'd get the message. Fortunately, Scott did. He let go of Stiles and cleared his throat. "Why don't you get some rest, buddy? You look like you could really use it," the Alpha soothed. Derek walked out before he could hear any more, mind already whirling with the steps they should take next.

"They've already killed two of their experiments, not to mention how many there actually are. And we don't even know what they want," Erica shouted, arms raised in exasperation.

Scott stepped forward, shoulders tense and stance unwavering. "We'll find out what happened to Stiles and also get to the bottom of these experiments. We can do it," he stated firmly.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles stared questioningly at Deaton, wishing that his friends hadn't left him in the room with the vet.

"So. . ."

"Rest, Stiles." The vet gently pushed Stiles back onto the table and walked out of his line of vision, promptly ending the conversation—if that could be considered one.

And so, with much shuffling and the ice-cold metal biting into his back, Stiles drifted off.

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

 _Head pounding, vision blurry with black wisps mockingly swirling in front of him, a high-pitched siren grating against his eardrums. Breathing out, he tried to lift his head but only managed to inch his head up for a millisecond._

 _"Good, you're awake."_

 _Stiles wanted, oh how he wanted, to move his head to the source of the voice. But he couldn't. At all. And with that alone, he felt like he had already lost. He didn't want to feel so powerless, not after all he'd been through._

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

 _A shiver instinctually ran down his spine, tensing his body to prepare for an uncomfortable unknown. And he hated unknowns. His life was dictated by unknowns ever since Scott was bitten, whether they be supernatural or a question of mental sanity. The Nogitsune disaster made him realize that there's no room for ignorance in the world they live in. So he took it upon himself to be the skeptical one; he'll analyze every detail possible, lie to his friends, or argue against his friends' reassurances—he'll take up the negativity and pessimism that his friends can't stand to bear—if that meant keeping them safe. He won't fall victim to another mess, not after being stripped of his will and identity. He built himself back up brick by brick after all his walls were torn down by the Nogitsune, so why the hell can't he push himself to do something as simple as moving his head? "Come on, Stiles," he urged himself. "Come on, just MOVE, anything." He tried clenching his fingers. Nothing._

 _He tried moving his toes. Nothing._

 _His eyes—a blink. He pushed himself to try it again. Blink. But that just made him sag in disappointment and slight exhaustion._

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

 _Footsteps clicked in a slow, steady rhythm until he saw black combat boots enter his line of vision that was fixated on the dirty cement floor._

 _"Don't strain yourself. I wouldn't want you to pull anything." Stiles could_ feel _the smirk on Theo's face and his blood boiled. But he was vulnerable right now and couldn't do anything. Theo stuck out a hand and slowly lifted his chin up, letting him drink in Theo's face for the first time since waking up. The same grotesque smile, the ever-constant gelled hair, and the exact same gleam of malicious intent in his eyes._

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

 _"Hope you're not too tired, the fun's about to begin." If Stiles had the strength and motor ability, he'd roll his eyes at the trite villian-esque line and bite off Theo's tongue._

 _"Let's start with a game we all know and love: hide and seek. You'll hide and I'll seek. Sounds simple enough, right?" There's a pause intended for Stiles's response to fill but they both knew that nothing would come out of him. Stiles knows he's trapped in a sick twisted game where his only prize, without fail, will be the decoration of scars, bruises, and welts littering his body._

 _Theo's smile grew wider, showing more teeth than usual, before raising his other hand and snapping his fingers._

 _Like an instantaneous switch, Stiles felt his muscles click into order from his brain to the tips of his toes in a domino effect. A shiver ran down his spine at the sudden feeling of liberation and he jolted his face out of Theo's grip._

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

 _"Well, what are you waiting for? You've got one minute. Run," he smiled, whispering the last word. Stiles stared at him in shock for a split second before darting his eyes to quickly survey an escape route. Basement. Broken water pipe. Puddle in the corner. Tool box. Filing cabinet. Wooden stairs._ Door _. He sprinted up the stairs to the door and wrenched it open only to be met with a black abyss._

 _"Fifty-three, fifty-two, fifty-one. . ."_

 _Weighing his options, Stiles decided that going head first into the utter darkness was better than staying with the psychopath behind him._

 _"Forty-five, forty-four, forty-three. . ."_

 _He ran through the door and kept his legs pumping in a desperate attempt to put as much space between him and Theo. He was blind in here; he couldn't see or hear anything but that in itself lured him to believe he's safe from Theo. It felt exactly like running with his eyes closed, unable to know if there was something ahead but not really caring because it was like nothing could touch him. He slowed down his pace as he realized that his surroundings would forever stay the same regardless of what he did—it was a black hole of a labyrinth. Will he be able to ever get out? If he did, will Theo be right there to hurt him?_

 _Maybe he made the wrong decision in running._

 _He twirled around, hoping that he could spot something—_ anything _. But there was nothing. Just darkness. He bit down on his tongue trying to hold in a panic attack but his heart was already beating irratically against his chest with no steady rhythm. Nothing to distract himself with but darkness._

 _Darkness._

 _Darkness._

 _Red._

 _Red_ eyes _._

Stiles woke up gasping and lurched himself up. Trickles of sweat beaded down his temples and he couldn't breathe at all for a heart-stopping moment. Two warm hands steadied his upper body, one propping his mid-back while the other was firm over his heart.

"Stiles! I need you to breathe, okay? In. Out. I-no, come on. You can do this. In. Out. Come on, steady breaths. In. Out," Derek urged above him but Stiles couldn't follow his verbal instructions as his heart was pounding out of control. He was pathetically sputtering and he searched Derek's eyes frantically for some sort of anchor but the crushing fear disconnected him from gaining any latching ground. The hands pressed tighter against his skin and it felt like an unbearable weight was crushing him.

"Derek! You're not helping!" a voice out of Stiles's sight yelled before the hands around Stiles were gone and a disconcerted Scott was in front of him. The Alpha placed one hand over his heart, just like Derek, and with the other hand he grasped Stiles's wrist and led it over to his overheated chest. Stiles felt the pulse through his fingertips, the rhythmic beat lulling his gradually to sync. It was a trick that his best friend picked up after his mom passed away, when his attacks were more frequent and violent.

"Easy, buddy. You're alright, you're alright," Scott breathed, keeping his heartbeat at an even pace because that was all Stiles was currently relying on. Stiles gulped in air as he felt himself come together slowly but surely and the two best friends stayed like that for several more minutes until Scott was certain that Stiles's heartbeat was normal.

"Thanks," he croaked when Scott had let go of his wrist and dropped his hand from Stiles's chest.

Isaac came up to Stiles, who was slouching forward on Deaton's examination table, and timidly handed him a glass of water. "Thought you might need this," Isaac offered.

"Thanks," Stiles said, grinning half-heartedly to ease some of the worry and tension in the room. He greedily drank the cool, refreshing water and in record time and looked up at his friends only to meet Derek's scowl and piercing hazel eyes.

"What happened?" It sounded like an accusation more than anything else and Stiles inched back at Derek's stern, direct voice.

"Derek, we don't need to bring that up right now," Scott appeased but there was a hint of irration leaking through his tone and Derek could definitely smell it on him.

Derek snapped his head to Scott and glared. "Something's going on with him and it could be linked to the experiments. We need to get as much information as we can if we want to even hope for a chance of finding these guys."

"Derek," Stiles whimpered, unhappy with the werewolf's aggravation and wanting to replace that with joy. But Derek ignored Stiles and continued on with his point. "We don't have the luxury of time so excuse me if I'm being a bit forward," he huffed.

"Dude, I want to get to the bottom of this as much as the next guy but we also need to be considerate. We—"

Derek had cut him off by directing himself to Stiles. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and haughtily asked, "If it's fine by you, can you tell us what you dreamt about?"

"I—I don't know," Stiles scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion, staring up at Derek imploringly.

"You don't remember at all?" Erica spoke up from her spot near the door.

"No."

There was silence as the wolves in the room looked at each other unnerved.


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, I guess we should've seen that coming," Isaac admitted, knowing that their luck was never favorable and things always managed to back-hand them across the face.

"Shut up," Derek muttered yet unable deny the truth in Isaac's words. But he had to at least _try_ to overcome this hurdle and look for a new solution to this, right?

"Derek, what's going on? What happened?" Stiles pleaded, wrapping his nimble fingers around Derek's forearm while the werewolf avoided eye contact at all costs.

"Do you remember who put you there in the preserve? Anything that you haven't told us?" Derek pushed. His only response was a nervous headshake.

Whatever led to Stiles being dumped in the middle of the preserve had caused him to act like a clingy child, Derek's certain of this. It's like he's not even Stiles anymore because the gangly teen he knew wouldn't act so vulnerable or pleading. He would hone down on his weaknesses until threats were eliminated for the time being, putting his friends' welfare before his own. That's what made Stiles undyingly loyal and . . . strong.

This boy squeezing his arm wasn't Stiles.

"Derek, please. Say something."

Derek breathed in; he couldn't stand to look at Stiles lest he wanted to lose his calm. "You were screaming in your sleep. You were trying to get away from someone but never mentioned a name."

"I—I don't remember any of that." Derek could smell Stiles's rising worry with each passing second—it was a strange mixture of bitter tart and chlorine.

"We'll deal with that later. Right now, we need to get you home before your dad calls the entire police force looking for you," Derek advised while motioning at Scott to drive the bewildered boy home. Scott only shook his head and Derek raised an inquisitive eyebrow, not fully understanding why Scott couldn't take up the task.

"Is it okay if Erica drives you home, Stiles?" Scott had put an arm around his friend's shoulder and Stiles had released Derek's arm to solemnly nod his consent as he pushed himself off the table. Derek tensed when he detected something amiss in that gesture. Derek wasn't an idiot; Scott and Stiles's friendship had stagnated ever since the beginning of the school year but they've been fruitlessly trying to hold up a facade that all was fine.

Derek shook his head. Despite what had happened in the past twenty-four hours with Stiles, the spastic teen still remembered his strained friendship with Scott. Derek guessed that some things were harder to forget.

Entering the school's front doors, Stiles trudged towards his locker with his head ducked down. He didn't want to talk to anyone given his current sour mood. He managed to get to his locker without a problem but looking down, he saw that the numbers on the lock were coming in and out of focus. He felt a headache coming on but nontheless turned the dial to what he hoped to be the correct combination of numbers.

Hope wasn't enough because the lock wouldn't budge as he pulled on it. Then he tried again. Nada. He stood there for a solid ten minutes trying to get his damn lock to open as his headache started getting worse with each spark of irritation.

"Need any help?" An all-too-sweet voice asked from his left.

"What help could _you_ provide?" Stiles spat, hating that Theo spotted him alone in an all-too-frustrating dilemma. "Are you going to break the goddamn locker?"

Theo shrugged, a smile ever-present on his face. "If you want me to. I was just thinking of picking the lock from its keyhole on the back." He leaned forward to grab the lock from Stiles and slightly turned it within its restricted position to reveal a small keyhole. Stiles let out a groan at not having thought of it sooner.

"Right," he hissed. Not appreciating Theo's uncomfortable proximity, Stiles pushed against his chest but only managed to move him back to his prior spot, which was still too close.

"You know, we can skip this whole 'walking on needles' stage. Come on, it's really not that hard," he chuckled, spreading his arms grandoisely and offering an appeasing smile. Theo can try to charm him all he wanted but he's not going to fucking buy it.

"Actually, it is. Now, leave me alone," he spat, irritation forcing him to just grab the first textbook out of his locker before hightailing out of there. He sped walked toward chemistry and he was about to let out a breath of relief when he heard heavy footfalls behind him.

Damn it.

"Stiles, don't be like that," Theo breathed and Stiles suddenly felt a pressure on his shoulder.

 _He stood in front of Theo's crouching form eying the black sludge dripping from his elongated claws. Heavy breaths. Thudding heart. Silence._

 _"You killed him."_

 _Silence._

 _Drip. Drip. Drip._

 _"If I didn't, then he would've killed you."_

Stiles jerked away from Theo, whipping around so fast that he's surprised he didn't get whiplash. He stared at Theo with mix of horror and confliction. Where did that come from?

Theo merely invaded all levels of personal space and whispered in his ear, "You don't have to like me. Just know that I would never turn my back on you." Warm breath hinting of peppermint blew against the sensitive skin of his neck and he carefully angled his head, making sure to avoid any physical contact with the bastard, to glare at him.

He flicked him off and briskly walked away, uncaring of the shrill bell signalling he was late.

"Wait, wait, let me get this straight," Isaac backtracked. "We're going to see to some guy who goes by the name 'Dr. Valack', the same one who fucked with Deaton's mind last year and who wrote a novel about the very things that are happening right now?"

"Don't forget he's currently in Eichen House. . ." Kira added.

"Sounds like fun," Erica purred, eying the worn book in Malia's hands with the title fading into a dull yellow against the cover's ominous backdrop displaying three figures decked out in mechanized gear. "'The Dread Doctors', that's pretty fitting. Do you think he's ever met them before?"


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles, Lydia, Erica and Isaac stepped out of Stiles's beloved blue jeep once they reached the looming, rusty gates of Eichen House.

"This brings back great memories," Isaac sarcastically muttered as he wrapped his red scarf tighter around his neck. He's gotten more sassy in the past year and Stiles was happy to see him grow out of his shell, if albeit jealous that another person was adding a tinge of flare to the pack.

Stiles inched towards the gate and hesitantly trailed his gaze up to spot a black crow twitching its wings atop the gate's iron points. He swore that its beady black eyes were fixed on him before it cawed and flew away. Turning his attention to something else, he squinted his eyes minutely at the cloudy sky that permeated a bright, white glow as if the sun was trying to force its way through the clouds. It wasn't like the blinding rays that the sun usually emits nor was it like the gloomy, gray expanse of a typical overcast day. Yet driving past the town boundaries, the sky would melt into a totally different scene. Thinking about it more in depth, the weather suited Beacon Hills: two forces, the natural and the supernatural, on the same scene but unable to intermingle with each other fluidly.

Snapped away from his musings by a voice calling his name, Stiles faced his friends and cleared his throat to regain composure. He should get his head in the game considering that they were about to talk to a man rumored to be able to claw his way into one's mind and scramble everything within.

The thrumming sound of a motor marked the arrival of Scott, along with Kira pressed against him, on his bike as they cruised to a stop beside Roscoe. Following close behind was a navy blue truck that Stiles didn't recognize. He took a few apprehensive steps forward when the door opened to reveal the one person who's been popping up in places where he's not welcomed. He stared open-mouthed at Theo, eyes narrowed in suspicion, before holding out an arm to Scott incredulously.

"Did you have to invite the guy I trust the least in this world?" There was accusation in his tone, which Scott definitely picked up on, but Stiles didn't care. He knew that his best friend thought he was crazy for not assuming every person had a heart of gold but this was a plain stab in the back to see how much trust Scott had put into Theo, the one guy Stiles has been extremely wary of.

"We need all the help we can get," Scott placated. Stiles just scoffed at his words and glanced around at their ensemble. But he noticed that one very important person was missing.

"Where's Derek?" Stiles couldn't keep the disappointment and slight whine out of his voice, eliciting looks of confusion from his friends at the sudden change in attitude. And he didn't blame them; less than thirty seconds ago, tension was high between him and Scott.

"He's staying back with Malia and Liam to dig more into the Dread Doctors," Scott informed.

"Oh." _But who's going to be there to protect me if things go south?_ Stiles finished in his mind. On the ride to Eichen House, he had let his mind wander to different scenarios that could go down during their visit with Valack. He imagined bumping shoulders with Derek constantly as they walked through the creepy hallways together, every touch of contact making him feel a smidge safer. Or how they'd be face-to-face with the man of interest and Derek would growl protectively if he sensed anything remotely threatening, standing guard in front of Stiles. Or how Derek's eyes would bleed Alpha red in the asylum's dark interior and flicker towards him every so often. But now all that wistful daydreaming has gone to waste because Derek wasn't even coming.

Stiles's friends were already making their way past the gates and he was about to follow suit when he caught sight of Theo merely standing there, feet spread apart, with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I know you're upset Derek isn't here," Theo started, an infuriating smirk growing on his face, "but I meant it when I said that I'd always look out for you. I made it a promise." He paused, looking at Stiles to let his words sink in—to see if that made any impact on him. But Stiles remained stoic, not buying anything that he uttered, and when that message was clear to him, he continued on. "And I keep my promises." His voice dropped and Stiles's brain was instantly telling him there was a double meaning to that sentence. Something just didn't sit well with this whole situation.

"Is that it?" In a manner much like before, Stiles flipped Theo off and turned on his heel to join his friends.

When he caught up with them and was in step with Isaac, he mumbled, "God, I hate him."

Isaac turned the other way while fastening his cashmere scarf more securely around his neck. "Here we go again," he muttered exasperatedly.

But Stiles surprisingly didn't say a single word after that. He kept his thoughts to himself because it was obvious that nobody else gave a shit and he'd be wasting his breath in trying to convince them to see his way. He continued his silent stewing as the group was guided by an orderly through the dank and rotting halls of Eichen. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, refrained from latching onto a werewolf in pursuit of safety whenever there were spouts of screeches or bloodthirsty hands bursting through the doors' bars hungry to grasp flesh. Stiles focused on the unclenching and clenching of his fists as a distraction from the block of panic that was pushing down on his chest. It sort of worked.

When they arrived in the basement level in front of the room where Dr. Valack was kept, the orderly turned around to face the group and looked them over in earnest. "I suggest that the weres stay back. Past this point, the walls are laced with wolfsbane." Isaac, Scott and Erica immediately stepped back while Theo took a moment to steal a glance at Stiles before hesitantly taking a spot next to the True Alpha.

Lydia, Kira and Stiles were the only ones left standing in front of the orderly and with that, they entered through the filmsy doors. The room was only illuminated by a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling by a string, its rays passing through the large glass divider in the middle of the room.

"What an intriguing set of young people. Tell me, what brings you here," a man, with a bandage wrapped around his forehead, smiled knowingly.

"What do you know about the Dread Doctors?" Lydia dove in firmly, confidence exuding from her entire demeanor. Her eyes were hard and her body stiff with burning demand for answers; she, along with everyone else in the pack, was wary and drained in their efforts to stop the murders.

"Well, I would be delighted to provide you the knowledge but answer me this, what are you willing to offer in exchange?" He tapped his fingers playfully along the glass wall and that made Stiles's skin crawl as the creepiness levels with this man skyrocketed.

"What do you want?" Lydia asked.

"I want you to scream." The creep factor with Valack just tipped the scale.

 _"What?"_

"It's what I want in return for the information you seek. So, what do you say?" He slid over a voice recorder through a small slit in the glass that Stiles hadn't noticed before. Red alarms were blaring in Stiles's head and he was sure that Valack was planning something that'd come to bite them in the ass sometime ahead. He faced Lydia and shook his head. "Lydia, you shouldn't go through with this."

Lydia kept her eyes focused on Valack. "We need to know about the book," she said monotonously.

"Deal," she affirmed, louder so that Valack and everyone else in the room could hear her voice laced with determination.

"Perfect," the creepy man smiled. And so, Valack told them what he knew about the Dread Doctors. He told them about the Dread Doctors' previous visit to Beacon Hills that left the town in shambles as the residents tried to gather themselves from the hellfire wrought by the demonic three figures. He told them the Doctors were on the hunt for the perfect specimen that's part of two worlds: the natural and the supernatural. He told them that this time around, they're close to their experimental success—that more carnage was inevitable until that point came. And that was it.

The three of them stared wide-eyed at Valack. Kira piped up for the first time since they came in. "Do you know how to stop them?"

Valack laughed. He straight up _laughed_. "You'll just have to figure that out on your own. They're quite relentless, as you could tell."

Lydia was angry now. "Is that really all there is to it? Only blood and ashes? You wrote the book for a reason. You wanted to seek out people who could separate truth from fiction. It was meant as a trigger—a guide. So _guide_ us." She was practically yelling at the end, her face a mere inch from the glass wall and Stiles had to place a steadying hand on her shoulder as a precaution. He couldn't blame her for feeling angry though, because Valack was their only lead in finding a solution.

"I cannot release information that I don't have, dear. Some things are far beyond my reach as well and the most I can give you is glimpses of what they've done up to this point. How they've taken possession of their subjects, their actions in Beacon Hills decades before, those will gradually come to you if you delve deeper into the book."

He focused on Lydia as he said this and a glint of appraisal flashed in his eyes before he trailed his gaze to Stiles, freezing him in his place. Stiles fidgeted, uncomfortable under direct laser focus, and shifted to stand closer to Lydia in faux protectiveness.

Valack chuckled lowly, the air about him transforming from grave to intrigue. "My, oh my. Fate has much in store for you, young man."

Stiles narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to the glass separating them. "What are you talking about?"

Valack tutted, folding his hands together and nodding at the ground as if enjoying Stiles's ignorance. "The Dread Doctors aren't the only ones at work here." He paused and stiffened. "Speak of the devil."

Just then, the air was buzzing with a static sensation. It felt like having a charged balloon near your skin. Off in the distance, there was a crashing sound of metal against metal.

Valack glanced at Kira. "You should have reconsidered bringing her here."

"Why?"

Valack was pacing across the length of his little enclosure in worry. "The Dread Doctors can manipulate electromagnetic fields and Eichen House so happens to run on the same type of fields, which prevents the Doctors from coming here uninvited. Your friend's mere presence here has disrupted the institution's protective system."

Everyone in the room was now more distraught than ever. Kira shakily looked around their surroundings. "So the Doctors. . ."

". . .are here." Stiles finished in a whisper.


	8. Chapter 8

Crackles filled the air. Stiles knew that the Doctors were closing in and his body was tense, ready to bolt out that door dragging his friends with him.

"A deal is a deal," Valack urged while motioning at the voice recorder sitting in the slot. Lydia just stared at the object, unmoving. Stiles's anxiety was exponentially growing with each passing second. They had to _get out_. The Doctors are so _close_ , he just knew it.

"Lydia, we have to leave _now._ " The desperation in his voice didn't escape him.

"We don't have much ti—" He couldn't even finish his sentence before the door behind them bursted into a million pieces of debris. Stiles was thrown onto the ground from the sheer force of the explosion, landing head first on the concrete. His ears were deafened by a piercing ringing noise that had him gasping in pain; his head was pounding in a sea of nausea and it hurt to move his eyes. The crackles were _so_ loud now, mechanical clicks and whirling gears audible past the constant ringing in Stiles's ears.

They were here in _this room_ , slowly making their way towards him. But he couldn't fight them; he couldn't even pick himself up. He shook his head in an attempt to speed up his restoration of senses but his mind was still trapped in a fog of disorientation and ache.

A shout was heard off in the distance and he winced, arms instinctively coming up to cover his ears, when the scraping, unpleasant sound of metal clashing against metal rang throughout the room. He forced his eyes to look up, spotting Kira's blurry form fighting head-on with the Dread Doctors. When his vision cleared up a bit, he noticed that it was only one Doctor, not three. Kira darted agilely around the big figure, jabbing her sword against the Doctor's suit in hopes of finding a weak spot.

"Go! Get out of here!" Kira yelled while throwing her body to the side to avoid the Doctor's enormous fist.

Stiles planted his hands on the floor but before he could try to push himself up onto two feet, he felt two hands hurriedly wrapping around his torso and dragging him towards the door before he was even upright.

In the hallway outside the door laid Malia's unmoving body, a nasty gash on her temple and side. "Where's Scott and Theo?" whispered Lydia, her arms still tightly wound around Stiles. He weakly pulled out of her grip and with much difficulty, he crouched down to pick up Malia bridle style. He tried his best to run but it turned out to be more of an unsteady trot, his feet tripping over each other.

"Here!" Lydia held the door open to an empty room—it was a supply closet—and Stiles frantically hurled himself into the small space, his arms giving way as he not-so-gently placed Malia on the floor. His heart was a jackhammer in his chest, his hands shaking now that he was no longer carrying Malia.

"S-stay here with her." He stumbled on his way to the closet door and was met with Lydia blocking his path. "And where do you think you're going?" Lydia demanded, her voice shaky but nonetheless powerful in a way that only she could pull off.

"I need to find Scott." Judging by Lydia's frown at his response, Stiles was certain that she believed he had lost his mind. Yeah, he was in no state to go out there alone with the Dread Doctors on the loose but his best friend could be in trouble. And True Alpha or not, Scott wasn't invincible.

"You're not serious," Lydia deadpanned. Stiles was scared. Pathetically so. But he had to find his best friend. So gathering all that was left of his courage, which wasn't much to begin with, he brushed past Lydia and grasped the doorknob.

"Stay low," he murmured. With that, he creaked the door open and slipped out into the now-empty hallway. It was dead silent and Stiles's skin crawled at the eerie change. Some of the overhead lights were blown out, casting the hallway in a slew of shadows and patches of dim lighting. He headed in the direction away from Valack's room and fumbled his way through the unfamiliar maze of halls and doors.

"Scott?" he whispered, knowing that he wouldn't need to shout in order for Scott to hear, assuming that the Alpha were nearby. A small part of Stiles's brain scoffed at this held an uncanny resemblance to basically every horror movie ever made. Here he was, a vulnerable human aimlessly wandering in a dimly-lit hall, calling out for a friend while a psychotic killer could be lurking in any corner. At that thought, Stiles hesitantly checked behind him and breathed out in relief when he spotted nothing. Turning back around, he was met by the horrific, metal mask of a Dread Doctor. He felt it staring at him inquisitively through its goggles, clicking noises and static-like chattering emitting from its suit as it tilted its head. He jumped back in fright only to have his back collide against something cold and solid. Fast as lightning, a heavily-armored arm shot out and slammed against his chest, knocking all the air from his lungs and effectively trapping him with crushing force. The chattering noises continued and Stiles had the creeping suspicion that they were discussing what to do with him. He couldn't understand them but he heard one sentence perfectly.

"No progress."

He flailed with all his might against the weight pressing into his chest, his fingernails scratching against the metal in utter distress. With his hands tugging on his captor's armored arm, he lifted himself slightly and pressed his legs together before kicking backwards against the Doctor's shins. When that did nothing to free him, he tried again in absolute desperation. The moment his soles made contact with metal, the pressure against his chest grew to unbearable levels. He felt his ribs groaning, ready to break under the heavy agony, and his lungs were compressed to the extent that he couldn't breathe at all. He stared helplessly at the red-tinted glasses that were examining his pinned form, his surroundings flickering to clouded darkness as his body struggled with the complete lack of oxygen.

"STILES!" A roar resonated across the hallways. "Get away from him!" Thundering footsteps pounded against the concrete floor and the vibrations rattled throughout Stiles's body like an earthquake. "Let him go!"

Stiles blacked out for a moment and in that split second of sweet relief, he felt a weight lifted off of him. It felt like he was a bird being freed from a rope that tethered him to the ground. And when his consciousness yanked him back up to the surface of reality, he realized that he was actually free. The Dread Doctors were gone and he was lying on the floor in a heap, his eyes finding their way to a blurry figure skidding to his side.

"Stiles! They're gone now. You're okay, you got that?" The figure, who was male judging by the bulky shape and voice, gasped out. The figure just kept on spewing out reassurances that Stiles's muddled brain couldn't comprehend. Hands unsurely hovered above his prone form, as if afraid of touching him. Stiles blinked numbly at the words and reached out a hand in a signal of acceptance. He needed an inkling of reassurance to confirm that this was real—that he wasn't alone. Warmth met his cold fingertips and expanded to his wrist. This was exactly what Stiles needed. His thought processes fuzzed at the soothing sensation and in this haze of temporary comfort, he muttered out one word in vain hope. "Derek?"

He felt guiding hands on his lower back and shoulder that pulled him onto his own two feet. Stiles whimpered at the nauseating movement and shut his eyes closed, his mind already starting to sober up. Stiles reopened his eyes and took his first good look at his companion.

"Let's get out of here." Stiles merely nodded minutely at Theo's words.


	9. Chapter 9

Theo had to practically drag Stiles given that the human boy's legs had turned into two columns of lead. His vision was still swimming with nauseating bouts of clarity and his head felt like it fell victim to a lumberjack's wrath. However, he was alive and had a werewolf, with dubious origins, by his side. They made their way through the basement halls in silence until Stiles jolted in remembrance.

"W-we have to go b-back. L-Lydia and Malia. . .S-Scott. . ." Stiles winced at how cracked his voice was, his tongue feeling like sandpaper in his desert-dry mouth.

Theo looked over at Stiles in concern, probably because he sounded horrible. "Of course. I can track the girls by scent." Theo's grip on his shoulder and back tightened and Stiles ignored the way his skin tingled at the gesture. He was desperate for a source of physical protection, that was it. And it was absolutely justified by his run-in with the Dread Doctors. He felt their pace pick up and his legs were stimulated by the quickened dragging of his feet against the concrete floors but he still had to lean against Theo for support.

"And Scott?" He hated how weak he sounded, especially in front of Theo. He despised it. He despised Theo. He loathed the way Theo was so close to him and how he couldn't push him away because the damn bastard was basically his lifeline right now. He abhorred the irony that the only anchor grounding him physically and mentally was Theo.

Theo was silent for a beat too long, which even Stiles's muddled brain picked up on. "We'll get to him, don't worry." At that, Theo suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and tilted his head up, most likely scenting the air.

He jerked to the right and opened a door, revealing Malia and Lydia sat on the floor of the closet space that Stiles had left them in. Lydia was bowed over Malia's prone form as the were-coyote was coming to. The banshee glanced up at the pair stood at the doorframe, surprise flashing across her face. It was probably from the sight of Stiles practically draped over Theo without a single word of protest coming out of the lanky boy's mouth.

Suddenly, Stiles felt another bout of skull-rattling nausea hit him. He clutched his head in agony and pushed his palms into his temples hoping that the pressure would subdue the pain. A scream echoed through the empty hallways and its sheer volume left Stiles's body tingling with a buzz.

"We have to get out. Now." Theo's firm voice commanded the three as the vibrations kept travelling up and down Stiles's body.

"They're coming," Lydia stared straight ahead with that blank, faraway look she's mastered over the past chaotic year. With Malia's arm around Lydia's shoulder, mirroring Theo and Stiles's position, the four ran through the basement level to reach the staircase. Stiles barely had a grasp on what was happening; he couldn't register much past his heavy breathing and everything was rushing past in a whirlwind.

 _Hopefully, we'll make it out of Eichen together. I'll get to see Dad again. . . and Derek._ That was the one thing standing out in Stiles's mind; it gave him something to latch onto and to remain focused on pumping his legs forward.

Rusty cell gates and dirt-speckled tiles became a bland backdrop. Rusty cell gates and dirt-speckled tiles. Rusty gates. Dirt-speckled tiles. Turn. Gates. Tiles. Window. Gates. Tiles. Turn. Tiles. Flickering lights. Gates. Tiles. Night sky. Wind.

 _Wait_.

They're out! They made it out of Eichen. Stiles suddenly felt lighter as his legs kept moving and a second later, he realized that Theo had let go of him since there was no need to run. But Stiles's legs didn't register that; he had grown accustomed to the mindless running.

"Stiles, wait!"

"Oomph." He unceremoniously collided with someone, and with all his experiences, he's well aware of the difference between hitting a werewolf body and a human body. This time, it's definitely a werewolf body.

Derek's eyebrows were quirked as per usual but Stiles's heart nonetheless sped up at the adorable image. He felt a surge of affection involuntarily overtake him even though he should be a mixture of disappointment and anger towards this particular Sourwolf.

"I'm guessing you're okay?" Derek amusedly voiced.

"Yeah," Stiles mumbled out. With anyone else, that snarky remark would've earned a right smack from Stiles. But this was Derek. Derek, who's very gruffy and tough on the outside but tender on the inside. Stiles hasn't seen much of the latter based on actual experience but he's deduced enough. Then, he remembered a pressing question that had been on his mind when they first arrived at Eichen.

"Why didn't you come along?" Stiles gazed up at Derek, eyebrows furrowed together and bright, doe-like eyes squinted behind his thick curtain of lashes.

Derek coughed once and turned away in an obvious sign that talking to Stiles wasn't his favorite thing to do right now. Stiles merely went with ignoring that small detail, more attentive to the words that would spill from Derek's lips.

"I stayed back to help with research," the werewolf stated succinctly, trying to wrap up this ordeal as fast as possible.

"No, I get that." At Stiles's brash tone, Derek snapped to look at the boy. "But why would you go for that when you knew you'd be more needed at Eichen as, you know, a beefed-up werewolf in case things go wrong. And if you didn't notice, things went wrong." Stiles didn't mean to get worked up but as he kept talking, his heart rate sped up with emotion. He had wanted Derek by his side as selfish as that may sound because he believed that they had grown on each other to the extent where they'd have each other's back. But unfortunately, Derek was a no-show and he ended up with Theo. And when the inevitable chaos struck, Stiles was basically left to his own devices until he had a confusing encounter with the Dread Doctors and was rescused by Theo, of all people. Lydia, Malia, and him made it out bu—

"Oh my god, where's Scott?!" Stiles frantically looked around in the misty dark air but only saw the group he escaped out with along with the scrowling Derek in front of him.

"He left with Kira right when I pulled in," Derek informed. _What?_ A pang of hurt and betrayal rattled within Stiles's chest. So they left, without thinking about whether the rest of them were alive? No, no, they must have had a good reason to leave. Probably some sort of major injury. Whatever it was, Stiles had to know. He'll just have to get the answers from Derek in a subtle way.

"Are they okay?" Off in the distance, Theo inspected the healing scratches on his knuckles and palms from where he punched the Dread Doctors. He honed in on Stiles and Derek's conversation but kept his space.

"There was a faint smell of blood but nothing to worry about. I'd say they were fine. But she," Derek jerked his chin to something behind Stiles, "is worse off."

Malia was leaning heavily against one of Eichen's mold-encrusted brick walls, hands clutched around her side and shaking her head every now and again as Lydia talked to her.

Stiles turned back to Derek. "Why are you here?"

Derek opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it just as fast. He rudely brushed past Stiles without another word and the boy watched his back, hurt and anger brewing in his eyes, as Theo walked up to him.

"He's not really good with words, is he?" Theo had that infuriating smirk again.

"Were you fucking eavesdropping?"

Theo took a step back and raised his palms up in fake surrender. "No, I don't need to listen in to know that things didn't go well. If you want my two cents, he doesn't deserve you. So stop wasting your breath."

A reinvigorated spark of determination ran through Stiles's veins at Theo's words. He's going to prove the bastard wrong and prove to himself that Derek's the right guy for him. His efforts won't be in vain because Derek is a really sweet guy who's gone through a lifetime of hurt and has built up a wall to protect himself.

"Fuck you."


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm getting impatient," Theo drawled, tapping his foot insistently against the blood-encrusted laboratory floors. He expected Stiles's hope to at least be slightly dimmed by now but he's as stubborn as a mule when it comes to Derek.

Theo rolled his eyes at the thought. _Of course. He's love-sick_. And when Stiles is passionate about something, he sticks to it until he's exhausted every resource. With that in mind, Theo's scowl turned into a smile. It's one of the many reasons why Theo took so fast to the Sheriff's son. It'll also be fun to crush those silly affections toward the Hale mutt and properly redirect them to Theo.

"Subject has no progress," the Dread Doctor stated as Theo crossed his arms in slight boredom.

"What else is new," he muttered. He knew that Stiles, in whatever state of mind he may be in, will always find a way to make his life complicated, but Theo accepts it as part of the thrill.

"Master, do we move onto forceful extraction?" Theo weighed the question and ran his fingers through his hair in contemplation. He can only wait for so long before taking what's his, right?

"Yeah, let's go with that. I want him here within the next 24 hours without a scratch. I don't need to tell you what will happen otherwise, do I?" He flicked his wrist offhandedly, the Dread Doctor dissipating in a wisp of grey.

Stiles stared at the back of Derek's head as the pack all gathered in Scott's house. Stiles's not-so-best friend along with Kira, Isaac, and Lydia were going over plans to set up security perimeters around the school, the hospital and Sheriff's office since those locations seemed to be the most likely targets for whatever the Dread Doctors have to throw next. From what Stiles could hear, Lydia occasionally huffed a breath of annoyance whenever Scott or Kira spoke up and something told Stiles that the red head's bad temper was related to Eichen House.

Playing on the television screen, the Star Wars battle sequence seemed like a dull thrum in Stiles's ears. Derek, who was sat on the couch, rested his chin on his clasped hands, busying himself with his thoughts. Stiles stood up from his chair near the open dining room and slowly made his way to Derek, feeling a need to accompany the werewolf and lighten his mood despite their fight earlier that day in front of Eichen.

Stiles sighed as he took the spot right next to Derek, letting a beat of silence flow through them before breathing out, "I'm sorry. . .for blowing up on you."

"It's fine." Derek mumbled while lifting his head from his hands and looking at Stiles. "It's my fault for not being there at Eichen in the first place. I . . . prioritized wrong, which is stupid of me to do to my pack—my family. So I'm sorry too."

Truth be told, Stiles felt warmth bud through his body at Derek's confession; it was the first time since waking up in the middle of the preserve that the older man had said anything to him other than small complaints and offput commentary. That said, Stiles thought it best to take advantage of this open moment. Some may frown upon the idea of exploiting someone else's guilt, but Stiles believes that one should take into account the circumstances before judging. And right now? The whiskey-eyed boy sees no major harm in making a forward move after enduring Derek's hostility for the past several years.

His tongue started moving before he could finish his thoughts. "You know, the school annually holds this festival or carnival-like event down by the public pool center where there's dead grass nobody's bothered to—"

"What's your _point_ , Stiles?" Derek interrupted. Though, the Alpha couldn't deny his slight amusement at the teen's babbling.

"It's coming up this Saturday and maybe we can have a pack night there, just to let loose, you know? Constantly being stressed out won't do us any good, especially if we want to make a solid plan to stop these sick bastards."

"I like the sound of that!" Isaac's peppy yell rang through the living room. It's sometimes easy for Stiles to forget that he's surrounded by teenage werewolves with supernatural hearing.

"C'mon Derek, please?" He made sure to keep his voice at a minimal whiny level. "Plus, we can keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary since the school is a definite hotspot for these guys."

After his plea, Stiles waited in anticipation, trying his best to imitate Scott's iconic puppy eyes but feeling slightly dismayed when Derek averted his eyes. Finally, he got a response. "Scott will have to agree." _And he definitely will, Stiles will make sure of it._

"Yes! It'll be fun, I promise!"

The shrill bell signaled the end of another school day, thankfully with no hiccups for the pack. Stiles, Scott, and Isaac walked past their boisterous classmates in tense caution, knowing that anything could happen in the blink of an eye.

Yesterday, the entire pack agreed on meeting every day afterschool at Derek's loft to gather whatever information they could on these "Dread Doctors" and Dr. Valack. So that's exactly where the three boys were headed as they walked through the school's double doors, slightly taken aback by the stark burst of sunlight shining down on their faces. Scott juggled his helmet between his hands as they crossed the parking lot to the familiar green motorcycle and blue jeep, noting that Lydia's car was still there, as expected, since the girls insisted on staying behind to research in the school library.

Stiles broke the silence when Scott fastened the strap under his chin and swiped up his helmet visor. "I'm actually going to make a quick stop at the grocery store. If we're all going to be at Derek's for lord knows how long, we should have food stocked to avoid being at each other's throats. . .more so than usual."

Isaac nodded and popped open the jeep's passenger door. "I'll go with you."

With a salute, Scott sped out towards the preserve.


	11. Chapter 11

_Only three days left until Saturday. Three days until I have an actual chance to make Sourwolf smile as we play random games and win prizes_ , Stiles thought to himself, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in anticipation.

"You know that's annoying, right?" Isaac huffed out as he rolled his doe-like eyes and stared at the passing streets as they neared the grocery store.

"You know that you sound like Derek, right?" Stiles barely made the sharp right turn into the parking lot when he bit out the last word, clenching down onto his seat as his jeep roughly rolled over gravel. _It's tough_ , Stiles had to admit. _It's tough to get through to the Sourwolf._ And this isn't anything new but Stiles couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed with the little progress he has had with the wolf. He thought that expressing open affection to Derek would chip away at his guards and make him realize that there's someone _right in front of him_ who will stick with him, through thick and thin. Then again, Stiles was always a romantic sap.

But, there's still hope. Which was why Stiles found himself wandering through the aisles in search of some Hostess ding dong cakes for Derek. He smiled at the memory of sitting next to Derek during one of their pack movie nights and catching him discreetly eating a ding dong cake, crumb by crumb. _It's all in the small details. Maybe he'll take a second to appreciate the gesture before gobbling it all down_ , Stiles chuckled.

He had placed three boxes of the classic treats into his empty cart when his phone buzzed.

 **Erica: pls pick up some chips, anything but original, thx cutie ur the best**

Stiles rolled his eyes and slipped his phone back into his pocket before pushing his cart down the aisle, using the overhead signs to navigate. As he passed by the toiletries section, a man with a fedora and a trenchcoat pulled out of the aisle and kept behind him, going in the same direction as him.

Stiles tried not to think about it too much when he turned into the snack aisle. However, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the wannabe-villain man turn into the same aisle and his heart was beating a bit faster. He slowed to a stop when he reached the mediocre section of potato chips and put on a show of thoughtfully considering his options. When he grabbed a random bag and turned to place it in his cart, he chanced a look down the aisle, only to see the same creepy guy standing in the middle of the aisle and faced towards him. Despite the fedora covering the top half of his face, Stiles knew that the man was staring straight at him. That being said, Stiles gripped his cart and fought down the rising emotions as he shakily walked away.

Something deep down in his core was warning him that this was a trap. And Isaac was somewhere in this store—either oblivious to the danger or already hurt. Stiles had to find his friend before shit hit the fan. So once he reached the opposite end of the aisle, he made a break for it and left his cart behind, not bothering to see if the man followed suit.

"Isaac!" Stiles screamed as he ran, weaving in and out of aisles in hopes that the strategy would put enough space between him and his current stalker. Panic was creeping up his throat and making it ten times more difficult to breathe and remain focused on finding Isaac. He passed by empty aisles while running down some where people were strolling through, eyes flitting around at a breakneck pace that's sure to give Stiles a headache soon.

As he was nearing the produce section, Stiles heard the loud clatter of metal against metal followed by Isaac's confused, "Stiles?!" Immediately, he stopped in his tracks and frantically looked around for Isaac.

And he almost collapsed in relief when he spotted the tall, young werewolf fifteen meters away pushing a cart hesitantly around.

"Isaac! Over here!"

Isaac swiveled around, only to frown as he spotted something behind Stiles.

"They're not friendly, are they?" Isaac's eyes turned gold as his claws shot out in preparation for a fight. Stiles really, really didn't want to turn around but after hearing Isaac say "they", he had to see for himself because last he remembered, only _one_ man was chasing him.

Sure enough when Stiles looked back, four men in black with hats covering the top halves of their faces were staring back at them, not ten feet away. Isaac let out a warning growl from his position behind Stiles and even though the noise was a signal of strength, it reminded Stiles of where he stood in the situation. Which was smack dab in the middle. Taking his best chance at safety, he backtracked towards Isaac while praying that the four men were just on a desperate search for beer or iced tea.

"Isaac . . .?" Said werewolf released a gruff exhale while keeping his eyes trained on the two threats. Even though Isaac was putting on a show of intimidation and strength, Stiles still felt like he needed Derek right by his side to protect him. It might not be because Derek was an Alpha. Hell, it might not even be due to the obvious fact that Derek was bigger than Isaac. There was a compelling pull to Derek ever since the night he was rescued in the middle of the preserve. Derek's presence. Derek's heartbeat. Derek's touch. That was all Stiles wanted.

And as Stiles zoned out, trapped in his own thoughts, the two figures lurched forward as Isaac simultaneously pounced.

"MOVE!"


End file.
